


The Girl in the Coffee Shop

by Persiflage



Series: Skoulson RomFest [1]
Category: Agents of S.H.I.E.L.D. (TV)
Genre: Alternate Canon, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Inspired by a Movie, Older Man/Younger Woman, Prompt Fill, Skoulson RomFest 2k15
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-12
Updated: 2015-01-12
Packaged: 2018-03-06 20:15:43
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,517
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3147188
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Persiflage/pseuds/Persiflage
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Agent Phil Coulson meets a girl in a coffee shop. It turns out the meeting is far from accidental.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Girl in the Coffee Shop

**Author's Note:**

  * For [tayryn](https://archiveofourown.org/users/tayryn/gifts).



> Written for the Skoulson RomFest 2k15 Day 1 (January 12) prompt: Movie AU, and inspired by Richard Curtis' 'The Girl in the Cafe'.

When Agent Coulson walks into the coffee shop he's surprised to find it's packed, and it takes him a moment to realise that it's probably because it's only two days before Thanksgiving, and people are catching their breath in between bouts of frantic shopping.

He places his order, then looks around, thinking he might have to go back to the office with his coffee when he spots a booth in the far corner where a young woman is sitting alone, her eyes glued to a laptop.

"Is this seat taken?" he asks.

She glances up, shakes her head, then returns her attention to her laptop, and he settles across from her, trying not to stare too obviously because she's the odd one out in this crowd: everyone else is encumbered by bags of gifts and foodstuffs, but she only has a laptop bag beside her on the bench.

"You're staring," she tells him, her tone sharp.

He flinches, then flushes, embarrassed to have been caught staring.

"I beg your pardon," he says, his tone formal, and fixes his eyes on his coffee. He feels intrigued, however, and after a few minutes, he sneaks a glance over, and finds she's openly staring back at him.

"Ask," she says.

"Excuse me?" he asks, confused.

"Ask me what I'm doing here," she says.

He frowns. "It's none of my business," he answers stiffly.

"But you're curious," she says, her eyes challenging.

"It's still none of my business."

She shakes her head, then says, "I'm writing a manifesto."

He feels his eyebrows crawl upwards. "You're a politics major," he suggests, "or an intern?"

She snorts, an unladylike sound that makes his lip twitch with amusement. "Do I look like a student?"

"Students don't have a uniform look," he points out, even more amused, despite himself.

"They do in this town."

"Mm." He drinks some more of his coffee, now thoroughly intrigued.

"Ever heard of the Rising Tide?" she asks, and her tone is casual, but her posture is far from relaxed.

"I have," he agrees.

She gives a quick nod, looking pleased. "I'm a hacktivist with them."

"Ah." 

She continues looking at him, and after a few moments her shoulders slump, and he presumes she's disappointed by his lack of an overt response. He keeps his expression neutral although he's amused by the thought he's disappointed her by not reacting more.

"Do you write many manifestos?" he asks.

"Some." Her tone sounds flat now, and he wonders if she's hurt his failure to say more.

"You're a company man, I'd say," she observes. He raises an eyebrow, and she smirks. "Men in dark suits usually work for the government in some capacity in this town."

"True," he agrees, because DC is full of men in dark suits like his who work for various government departments.

"So what are doing in here, Mr Company Man?"

"Even company men are allowed lunch breaks," he observes mildly.

She looks at her watch pointedly, and he can't help smirking.

"I had a late running meeting," he tells her, "and after five hours I needed to get out of the office." 

She nods. "So which department do you work for?" she asks.

"Do you really think I'll answer that?" he counters.

She smirks again. "Must be the Secret Service," she says, "or you'd tell me." She gives him a thoroughly appraising look, and he feels heat in his face at the scrutiny.

"You look fit and capable," she tells him, "but you don't look scary enough. And you're not wearing the obligatory shades, nor do I see you toting a sidearm."

His eyebrows fly up. "I wouldn't bring a weapon in here," he says tersely. Suddenly this situation doesn't feel so amusing and the witty banter feels somehow dangerous.

She put her hands up in a gesture of apology and mutters, "Sorry, sorry."

He finished his coffee, then gets to his feet. "Good afternoon." He walks away, but his attempt to make a dignified departure is thwarted by the throng of people all getting up at the same moment at the next two booths; they begin milling about in a highly disorganised fashion, thoroughly impeding his progress.

The young woman appears at his elbow as he waits for the crowd to clear.

"Hey, look, I'm sorry I upset you," she says quickly. "I was out of order."

"It doesn't matter," he tells her, a little more curtly than he'd intended.

She rolls her eyes. "Of course it matters," she tells him. She holds out her hand and he barely restrains himself from rolling his own eyes in response, but he takes her hand and she shakes his briefly, then melts away back to her booth.

It's not until he's back at the office that he discovers the business card in the pocket of his suit jacket. It has SKYE and an email address printed on it, but nothing else.

He frowns, shakes his head, and holds his hand over the paper recycling bin for a moment, before slipping it back into his pocket. He can't help feeling a little impressed that she got the card into his pocket without him noticing.

It's not until the following day, after an evening spent listening to Skye's Rising Tide podcasts, that he emails her and invites her to have lunch with him the day after Thanksgiving.

She replies promptly, as if she's been waiting for him to get in touch, and suggests a diner local to the office, but he emails back with a counter-proposal of a much nicer restaurant and assures her it'll be his treat. After a short time she emails back an agreement, and he smiles in satisfaction.

AC-S-AC-S-AC

When he reaches the Italian restaurant Skye's waiting outside, and he is oddly touched by the fact that she's wearing a dress rather than the jeans and plaid shirt she'd been wearing the other day. (The fact that the dress is a knee-length red one that allows him to admire her legs is a bonus he's not going to mention.)

"Good afternoon, Skye."

"Mr Coulson."

"Call me Phil," he tells her. It'll sound weird if she addresses him so formally, and he can hardly tell her to call him Agent.

"You look very nice," he tells her, and is surprised when she blushes.

"Thanks." 

He opens the restaurant door, then guides her inside with a touch of his hand at the small of her back. He can't help thinking that her coat hardly seems sufficient against the bitterly cold wind that's blowing today, but he keeps that thought to himself as he doesn't want to embarrass her; he remembers very well the acute embarrassment, even shame, of being too poor to afford good clothes after his father's death to ever comment on such things to someone else.

They take their seats and Coulson asks, "Did you have a good Thanksgiving?"

He immediately wishes he hadn't asked, however, when Skye's expression closes up.

"I don't celebrate it," she tells him, and her tone doesn’t invite questions, but he's always been too curious for his own good, and he's especially curious about this girl, so he ignores her tone and expression to ask, 

"Why not?"

She scowls at him, then sighs, before saying, "I'm an orphan."

"So am I," he tells her quietly.

Her expression softens instantly, and she reaches across the table to touch the hand that's holding his menu.

"I'm sorry," she says, and he can see she means it – her dark eyes are full of sympathy.

He gives a little shrug. "It's okay," he says. "I've been an orphan since my twenties. You?"

She bites her lip a moment, then says, "Always."

He turns his hand over to clasp hers. "I'm sorry," he tells her, and he's wishing now that he'd heeded her signals that this wasn't a topic she wanted to discuss.

At this point the waiter approaches and Coulson releases her hand to pick up the menu again so he can tell the man what he wants. They both decline wine with their meal, and Coulson wonders if she has no taste for it.

He's about to tell her that he's been listening to her podcasts when she asks, "What made you decide to have lunch with me?"

He quirks an eyebrow. "Curiosity." She gives him a puzzled look, so he elaborates, "You're a hacktivist, and I work for the government, yet you gave me your card. And you didn't even give it to me directly – you slipped it into my pocket. I was really curious about why you'd do such a thing, especially since we'd only just met."

She ducks her head, her expression becoming guilty, and he feels his muscles beginning to tense up.

"Our meeting the other day wasn't entirely by chance," she says.

He frowns. "What do you mean?"

The waiter arrives with their starters: two bowls of soup, and Skye waits until he's set down the bowls then gone on his way, before she answers.

"I already knew who you were, Agent Coulson, and who you work for." She's speaking quietly, but he still glances around to check no one's overheard her using his rank.

"Explain," he says, his tone a little more abrupt than he'd intended.

She swallows, then says, "I know that you work for SHIELD, and I know a lot about your particular organisation. I _am_ a hacktivist after all. I came to this town looking for answers from SHIELD, and I've been keeping an eye out for an Agent I hoped would be able to help me find those answers."

He scowls. "How did you find out that I'm a SHIELD Agent?"

She gives a little shrug. "I've been keeping an eye on the Triskelion – you guys are kinda hard to miss, for all you're a secret government organisation."

"You've been stalking me, then?" he asks. Despite himself, he's actually impressed – for her to have discovered he's a SHIELD agent and tracked him she must be very good at hacking. The fact that she's hacking SHIELD is not good news, of course, and he's aware he should be calling for backup and marching her back to the Triskelion, not sitting here preparing to listen to whatever story she plans to tell him.

She nods, the guilty look back in her eyes, but this time he can see defiance as well. "Why do you need SHIELD's help?"

"They know something about my origins," she tells him; he stares at her very hard, but he can see no sign of deceit in her eyes.

"Explain," he says again, but more gently.

She passes him her phone and on the screen he sees a copy of a letter, most of which has been redacted by SHIELD. He swipes the screen and discovers a handful of photos of people, presumably SHIELD agents. He swipes back to the letter and looks at it more closely.

"St Agnes Orphanage," he observes. "That's where you grew up?"

She nods. "I spent the first few years of my life there, then was sent back there whenever a foster family decided they wouldn't be keeping me after all."

He raises an eyebrow at that. "Did that happen often?" he asks gently.

She drops her gaze, stirring the spoon around in her soup. "Three or four times a year," she admits, her voice a thread.

"I'm sorry," he tells her. 

She gives a shrug. "Not your fault."

"So, you picked me to assist you on your quest," he observes. "Why me?"

She flashes a quick look up at him, then ducks her head again before answering. "You have kind eyes."

He feels his eyebrows rise. "You've been watching me that closely?" he asks, a little worriedly.

She nods, looking a little apologetic about it.

"I see."

He finishes his soup, and waits for Skye to finish hers, and for the waiter to clear the table, considering what she's told him, then says, "I'm prepared to help you if I can, but I should warn you that you might not like what I find. Despite what you and your Rising Tide friends might think, we generally keep secrets for a good reason – usually to protect people."

He passes her phone back just as their waiter returns with their main courses. As they begin to eat their pasta, Coulson turns over a plan of action. He decides he's going to keep his initial researches to himself. He'd rather not involve anyone else just yet as he's no desire to draw attention to Skye's existence until he knows a little more of her story.

He begins talking to her about her Rising Tide podcasts as they eat, and he uses all his charm and skill to draw as much additional information from her as unobtrusively as he possibly can.

She reveals that she lives in a van, which horrifies him, though he does his best to keep that reaction from her. She has had an older boyfriend on-and-off for a few years, though she hasn't seen him for over six months because she's been in DC and he's in Austin.

"Aren't you lonely?" he asks.

She gives a too-casual shrug that doesn't fool him for a second. "I'm used to being on my own."

 _Not the same thing,_ he thinks, but he keeps that thought to himself.

Skye declines both dessert and coffee after they've finished their pasta, so Coulson calls for the bill.

"I'll look into that matter for you," he tells her as they make their way outside. "As soon as I get hold of any information, I'll be in touch, but bear in mind it may take some time."

"Thank you." She looks so relieved that he can't help patting her arm, and she seems to take that as permission to fling her arms around him in a hug which he returns a little awkwardly. Public displays of affection are not really something he indulges in, and he barely knows this young woman. At the same time, however, he'll acknowledge that she's a very attractive young woman.

He pats her on the back for a moment, then pulls away. "I need to get back," he tells her, "but I will be in touch."

Skye nods. "I'll wait to hear from you," she agrees.

He nods back, then turns and strides back to the office.

AC-S-AC-S-AC

A week later Coulson emails Skye and invites her to have dinner with him. He's tempted to cook dinner for her himself, but after a few minutes of daydreaming, he dismisses the idea. It's important to keep their relationship as professional as possible, he thinks, especially given how little he still knows about her – his digging around has taught him little more than she had already told him, and he suspects his superiors would be deeply suspicious if they were to become aware of Skye. Coulson, however, has decided to trust his instincts, and they are telling him that she can be trusted.

They meet for dinner at another Italian restaurant, and as they eat he tells her the little he's learned about her history: of Agent Linda Avery, who was responsible for dropping the infant Skye off at St Agnes, and of Avery's missing partner, Richard Lumley.

"Lumley's been off the grid since shortly after Avery dropped you off at St Agnes, and I don't think that can be a coincidence"

"What about Agent Avery," she asks. "Can't we talk to her?"

He shakes his head. "Sorry, I was unclear – Avery's dead," he says gently. "And I don't think it's a coincidence that she delivered you to St Agnes, then she died, and then Lumley disappeared."

"Do you think he killed her, then, before going off grid?"

"No. I think Avery's death is what precipitated Lumley's disappearance. I think someone was after them both, and that they caught up with Avery and crossed her off, and that's when Lumley fled. I found out that the pair of them were recent graduates from the SHIELD Academy and were considered to have promising careers ahead of them. For Lumley to have abandoned that career and bolted into hiding so thoroughly that no one's seen him for twenty four years, he must have been in fear of his life. Which makes sense if someone had already killed Avery."

"So that's it," Skye says, sounding as if she's struggling with her emotions. "End of the line."

"Not necessarily," he tells her, and she gives him a surprised look.

"What do you mean?"

"Well, Lumley is missing, not dead," Coulson says. "Which means there's a possibility of finding him. It's a slim possibility, I admit, but it is a possibility nonetheless."

"But how can you hope to find him after so long?" she asks, sounding disbelieving.

"I have SHIELD's resources to call on," he reminds her. "I've found a photo of Lumley from twenty four years ago. I can get someone to age up the photo, then use our facial recognition software to scan for him. Unless he's a hermit living in a cave somewhere, he'll pop up eventually." He gives a little shrug. "It's a long shot, I know, and I've no idea how long it'll be before we spot him, but we should do so eventually."

She ducks her head for a minute, apparently concentrating on her food, then she looks up. "Thank you," she says quietly.

He nods, feeling a little awkward because she looks as if she might cry at any moment, and he feels bad for upsetting her, but she surprises him by reaching across the table to clasp his wrist.

"I really appreciate the time and trouble you're taking to help me." She slides her hand down and squeezes his fingers. "No one else has ever made this much effort to help me with anything before."

He shakes his head. "I haven't done much so far."

"You have, though," she says, firmly contradicting him. "You've cared enough to give this your time and attention. I'm not stupid, you know – I know you probably should have me carted off and locked up for hacking SHIELD, but you didn't."

He winces a little at this reminder, but he doesn't argue with her.

After dinner he asks her, rather awkwardly, if he can help her with anything else, but she's quite adamant she doesn’t need any assistance in any other matters.

"I'll stay in touch," he promises as they're about to part company.

"Thank you, Agent."

"I told you," he says, "you can call me Phil."

She smiles at him, then takes his hand, and as they shake, she leans up and kisses his cheek.

"Thanks, Phil. Good night."

"Good night." He watches her walk away to where she'd parked her van, and he feels a brief pang of regret before he scolds himself, then turns around to grab a cab back to his apartment.

AC-S-AC-S-AC

He has dinner with Skye once a week after that. If asked, he'd say he's keeping an eye on her to ensure she's not up to anything nefarious. He hardly dares to admit to himself that he enjoys her company and that she's the one bright spot in his otherwise dull life. He misses heading up the Avengers Initiative, but his near-death experience just before the Battle of New York six months ago seems to have put Director Fury off that project. The truth is, after his extensive R&R in Tahiti, he's itching to get out from behind a desk, and get back out in the field. He's tired of sitting around, shuffling paperwork, and there's going to come a time soon when he's going to go to Fury's and office to ask, if not demand, to be given something more useful to do.

Having dinner with Skye is far from a chore, and he's slowly learning a little more about her with each meeting. The more he learns, the more impressed he is with her: she's a high school dropout, but she's taught herself not only computer programming, but also how to hack, and while he might not approve of the latter, he's still impressed with her dedication. He can understand where it comes from of course – he's no stranger to driven individuals who surmount seemingly impossible odds in an attempt to achieve their goals. To Coulson, Steve Rogers epitomises this perfectly, but he suspects Skye's in just the same league.

It's six weeks after their first dinner together, a bitter mid-January evening, when he arrives at the restaurant for dinner with Skye with a piece of news he suspects will both surprise and excite her.

"I've found Agent Lumley," he tells her as soon as the waiter's gone away with their orders.

She stares at him, looking every bit as astonished as he'd expected. "Where is he?" she demands.

"Mexico City. He turned up in the background of a selfie taken by a teen and posted on his social media account. I'm flying down there tonight."

"I want to come with you," she says immediately, which he honestly hadn't anticipated.

"You can't," he says.

"Why not?" She bristles with anger, and he reaches across the table to clasp her wrist.

"Skye," he says gently. "SHIELD are flying me down there."

"So? You could find an excuse to bring me too."

He shakes his head. "I'm sorry, Skye, but it's not possible."

She snatches her hand away and glares at him, and he tries to think of a way to convince her to accept his decision.

"Look, I promise I won't get in your way, or interfere in any way, but please let me come, Phil."

Her tone is soft and pleading, and her brown eyes look huge as she gazes at him. He's about to open his mouth to refuse her again when the waiter arrives with their starters.

She continues to stare at him as the waiter sets down their plates, and as the man walks away, Coulson sighs heavily.

"You'll have to promise to do exactly as I say," he tells her. "And I'm not going to let you sit in on my conversation with Lumley, assuming I do manage to find him before he bolts again."

Skye's eyes shine with relief and gratitude. "Thank you, Phillip," she says softly, and begins to eat.

"Just don't make me regret this," he says in a warning tone.

"I won't, I promise," she says quickly.

"Hmm."

AC-S-AC-S-AC

He walks back to her van with her, and Skye packs a bag while he waits on the sidewalk, then they take a cab to his apartment. It's a relatively modest place since, while he likes nice things, he hadn't expected to be here for long before SHIELD reassigns him somewhere else. Most of his stuff is therefore still in storage, but he still feels a pang of guilt at how nice his place is compared to Skye's van.

"Have a seat," he tells her. "I won't be long."

She nods, then wanders over to look at the shelves of memorabilia. He supposes that's not really surprising, and he leaves her to look as he heads into his bedroom to grab his stuff. He'd told Skye that he didn't expect they'd be gone for more than a few nights, so he keeps his packing to the minimum.

Ten minutes later he emerges to find Skye still poring over his collection, and she's so absorbed that she doesn't spot him immediately. He shamelessly takes advantage of the moment to watch her. She's changed out of the short red dress she tends to wear for their dinners into skin-tight jeans and a plaid shirt, with a low-necked t-shirt underneath, and with the top couple of buttons of her shirt left undone, she's showing quite a lot of cleavage as she bends forward to examine something – his radio watch, he thinks – more closely.

He feels a surge of desire and is ashamed of himself – she's half his age and could hardly be interested in a middle-aged bureaucrat with receding hair, even if he is still in good shape.

"Ready?" he asks, and she looks up to give him a dazzling smile.

"Yeah. You've got a lot of interesting stuff," she says, and he can tell she's being sincere.

"Thanks."

They make their way out of the apartment, and Coulson leads her into the parking garage where he keeps the car.

"You've got to be kidding me!" Skye exclaims, and he can hear the awe in her voice as she takes in the sight of Lola.

He raises his eyebrows as he takes her backpack and stows it alongside his case in Lola's trunk.

"She's gorgeous," Skye says reverently.

He chuckles. "Glad you think so. Her name's Lola."

Skye giggles. "I like that." She runs a finger down the car's bodywork, and Coulson's surprised to find he has no urge to tell her not to touch Lola. It's the appreciative gaze she's turned on the car, he decides.

"Hop in."

She does, and he climbs in behind the wheel, then pulls out of his parking spot and heads up to the street.

"You know, I knew you were smooth, but I didn't realise you were this smooth," Skye says as they head towards the airbase that SHIELD favours.

"You think I'm smooth?" he asks, smirking.

She turns towards him. "Of course I do," she says. "And you _know_ you're smooth, so don't pretend it's news to you."

He chuckles and shoots her a flirty grin, and she rolls her eyes at him. "Easy there, Charm School," she says, then grins at him when he starts to blush. 

"Well look at you. I would never have pegged you as the sort to blush like a teenage boy," she teases.

"Skye," he says, trying to remonstrate with her in a properly authoritative tone, and sure he's failing dismally.

"It's okay, Phil, your secret's safe with me. Tell me about Lola."

So he does, talking enthusiastically about Howard Stark's initial work on the original VTOL system that allows the Corvette to fly.

"Wait, Lola flies?" she asks disbelievingly.

He chuckles again. "Oh yeah. Want me to show you some time?"

"I'm gonna start calling you Agent Smooth," she declares, making him laugh.

As he drives in through the gates at the airfield and shows his ID, Coulson can't help wishing he was twenty years younger. If he was, he'd dare to try his luck at wooing Skye. He feels as if she gets him as no one else ever has, and it's a sweet feeling, but he feels slightly bitter too, at the knowledge that he's far too old for her.

No one seems to bat an eyelid when he tells them that Skye will be accompanying him as his civilian consultant, which is a relief to Coulson. After they're aboard the plane and Lola is safely secured, however, he does wonder if it's because people really do believe that Coulson is Fury's favourite. He knows that it's not true, but he's willing to take advantage of that belief if it means other agents aren't going to question him when he decides to bring along someone like Skye.

"It's about four hours from here to Mexico City," he tells her as they settle into their seats, "but they're a few hours behind us, time zone-wise, so while our body clocks will tell us it's around midnight when we land, local time will tell us it's still mid-evening."

"Where are we staying?" Skye asks, sounding interested, and he supposes this trip must be something of a novelty to her.

"I've booked a room at the local Marriott Hotel, near the airport. It shouldn't be a problem to get a second room for you."

She nods, then rather shyly tells him, "I've never stayed in a really good hotel before. I've been in cheap motels, but not top class hotels."

He feels a flush heating his cheeks and wonders if she considers him to be just a privileged white guy who takes this kind of thing for granted.

She must read something in his face, which she tends to do often he's noticed, because she puts her hand on his forearm and says softly, "Hey, SHIELD's paying right, so why should you stay in a seedy motel if you can stay in a four star place?"

He shakes his head. "I'm paying. This isn't really SHIELD business, this investigation, so I'm not charging the trip to expenses."

She looks at him wide-eyed. "Then you should let me pay for my room," she says. "You're doing me a big enough favour as it is."

He shakes his head again. "I doubt you could afford the price of the room," he says as gently as he can. He doesn't want to humiliate her, after all. "Tell you what, though – if we do find Agent Lumley and we can bring him back to SHIELD, I'll call it a business trip – then the cost of the room won't matter."

"But – " she begins.

He reaches over with his left hand and clasps her hand, which is still holding his right forearm. "Please, Skye. You live in a van – we both know that, so I'm pretty sure you can't afford even one night in a half-way decent hotel. And don't think for one minute that I'd agree to let you stay somewhere you can afford." He squeezes her fingers. "We'll worry about it afterwards, okay?"

She nods, although he can see she's reluctant to agree.

"Good." He lets go of her hand and she pulls it away. "We should get some sleep if we can, or some rest at least."

"Yeah."

He watches from the corner of his eye as she curls into her seat, her left cheek pressed against her hand as it rests against the back of her seat, and although he worries she'll end up with a sore and aching neck, he says nothing. He doesn't want her to think he's patronising her, especially not after he's told her he knows just how broke she is.

He closes his own eyes, feeling it would be rude to watch Skye while she's sleeping – he's never had the urge to watch his lovers while they're sleeping as he's always considered it creepy.

AC-S-AC-S-AC

They arrive in Mexico City just shy of midnight, as Coulson had predicted, and Skye wakes just as the plane's coming in to land. It isn't long after that that he drives Lola down the ramp at the back of the plane, then drives the short distance to the hotel. 

On arrival, however, he makes an unwelcome discovery – there are no more rooms available tonight. One of the other hotels near the airport suffered a bad fire this afternoon and has had to be evacuated, with the result that all its guests have been relocated in the other top hotels locally.

Coulson listens in dismay to the manager's explanation, then agrees there is nothing to be done about the situation, before accepting his keycard. He walks over to join Skye, who's sitting on one of the lobby's many couches, looking around her with curiosity.

"Everything okay?" she asks, as if she senses that it's not.

"I couldn't get you a room," he tells her, and explains about the fire and its consequences.

She grimaces, then asks quickly. "Was anyone hurt?"

"No," he says, slightly surprised that that's her first concern.

"Good."

"What are we going to do about our sleeping arrangements?" he asks.

She shrugs. "Why don't we go and look at the room, then make a decision?" she suggests.

He can't think of a better option, so he picks up his bag again, and they take the elevator up to their floor.

Coulson unlocks the door, then gestures for Skye to precede him. Once inside they discover a Queen-sized bed at one end of the room, and a couple of armchairs at the other.

"There we go," she says cheerfully. "I can easily sleep in one of the armchairs."

"Absolutely not," he says immediately.

"Phil – " she begins.

"No, Skye," he says firmly. "We're both adults, and the bed's a big one, we'll share it."

Her eyes go wide and he immediately feels bad. "I'm sorry," he says quickly. "You can take the bed. I can sleep anywhere after years of field work."

She shakes her head. "Honestly, I don't mind sharing the bed," she says.

"I – " he begins, but she cuts him off, just as he had done a few moments ago.

"C'mon Phil. Like you said, we're both adults. I wouldn't be able to sleep in that bed if you were trying to sleep in a chair."

He takes a deep breath, then nods. "Very well."

"Good. Do you want to shower first?"

"Don't you want to?" he asks.

Skye shakes her head again. "No."

"Thanks." He pulls his toiletries from his case, then heads into the ensuite. He is feeling vaguely uneasy about sharing the bed with Skye – he knows how attractive he finds her, but he also feels that to insist on sleeping in the chair would imply that he doesn’t trust her, and he does – despite her somewhat dodgy background.

He's as quick as he can be in showering and cleaning his teeth, then he moves into the bedroom so Skye can use the bathroom.

They soon settle down for sleep, and Coulson does his best to lie absolutely still. He hasn't shared a bed with someone for some time between the erratic nature of his work for SHIELD and his long-distance relationship with Audrey Nathan. In fact, he was celibate for three months before the Battle of New York six months ago, and he's been without a lover since then too.

Getting back together with Audrey is out of the question since she thinks he's dead, but he knows he could have found himself a lover if he'd really wanted someone – he simply hasn't had the desire to get involved with a woman again since his R&R in Tahiti. He misses the sex, but he misses having companionship too.

Deciding that thinking about sex while sharing a bed with Skye, even if she is lying over on the far side of the bed, is a dangerous move, so he pushes those thoughts aside, and concentrates instead on emptying his mind. 

AC-S-AC-S-AC

Coulson must succeed because he's pulled from a nightmare some hours later by Skye's voice calling his name in a soft, pleading tone.

"Skye?" His voice is raspy and his throat feels sore, as if he's been screaming for hours.

"Phil," she says, although it sounds more like a sob than anything else. "Thank god. You were having a nightmare and thrashing about like you were fighting someone."

He sits up carefully, blinking in the light of the lamp she's switched on. "I'm sorry," he says guiltily.

"Don't be," she says quickly, as if wanting to reassure him.

He scrubs a hand over his face and realises he feels quite shaken, even though he can't remember a single detail of what he was dreaming about.

"What were you dreaming about?" Skye asks quietly.

He shakes his head. "No idea," he tells her, frowning. "I can't recall the details now I'm awake." He takes a deep breath. "If I had to guess though, I'd guess I was dreaming about the events just prior to the Battle of New York. I – " He pauses and she looks at him expectantly. "I had an encounter with Thor's brother, Loki, a short time before the Battle kicked off. He stabbed me – in the chest."

Her eyes widen in obvious shock. "What happened?" she asks, reaching out to put her hand on his arm as she remains kneeling beside him.

He swallows. "I died. Not for long. Either eight or forty seconds, so I've been told, but I was killed, then revived."

She shudders, then shifts so that she can lean in and wrap her arms around him. "I'm so sorry, Phil," she says softly.

He hugs her back, despite the fact he knows this is a dangerous thing to do – the sensation of Skye's breasts pressing against his chest, separated only by the two thin layers of the t-shirts they both wear, is very pleasant, and he feels his cock responding already. 

"Perhaps I should go and sleep in the chair after all," he suggests.

She shakes her head as she pulls back to look him in the eyes. "I don't think that's a good idea."

"But – " he begins.

She cuts him off. "You should let me give you a neck rub," she says, "then you'll be able to relax and sleep again."

"I don't think – " he starts, but she interrupts him again.

"Good," she says, with a smirk. "Don't think, just lie down again and let me give you a neck rub. Or we could take care of this." She drops her hand to palm his erection through his pyjama pants, and he groans.

"Yeah, I thought that idea would appeal to you," she tells him, her smirk becoming a full-blown grin. She leans in, her hand still on his cock, and asks in a low voice, her breath tickling his ear. "What d'you say, Phil? Wanna fuck?"

"Oh god, Skye." He turns his head and kisses her, bringing his hands up to hold her head as her mouth opens eagerly under his.

Eventually they pull apart to breathe, but not for long – Coulson's mouth soon finds its way to Skye's neck, and she moans pleasurably as he sucks on her pulse point.

"Phil, Phil." He decides he likes the way she moans his name, and he wonders if he's imagining it, or his cock is really getting harder.

She pushes him away and he's embarrassed to hear himself whine in disappointment, but she giggles, then reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, clearly intending to pull it off. He grabs hold of her hands, forestalling her.

"Skye," he whispers.

She gives him a thoughtful look, then slides her hand up under his grey SHIELD-issue t-shirt until she finds his scar. "It's okay, Phil," she tells him softly as she flattens her palm over his scar. She leans in to kiss him, open-mouthed and hungry, and he kisses her back without restraint.

Then she leans back and pulls her own t-shirt up and off, tossing it to the floor in one swift movement. He reaches for her breasts immediately, cupping them in his hands and thumbing her nipples until they're stiff points beneath his touch.

She kisses him again, then shoves at his shoulder and he falls back against the pillows. Skye immediately takes advantage, grabbing the waistband of his pants. He chuckles, then lifts himself up so that she can tug them down and off.

"I was convinced you were a big boy," she tells him, reaching for his cock and sliding her hand up and down his length.

He groans, hands fisting into the bedclothes as she teases him.

"Skye," he gasps when she lowers her mouth over him, and eases his prick into her throat.

"You want this Phil, don't you?" She eases him free with a wet pop.

"Yes."

"Bet you've been wanting me for a while, haven't you Phil?"

"Yes, yes!" he gasps when she lowers her mouth again. 

"Are you ready to fuck me, Phil?"

"Oh god, yes!" he cries when she curls her fingers around his balls and squeezes.

"Good boy."

She releases him, then gets to her feet and drops her pyjama pants, before tossing them onto the floor, along with his.

"On your honour as an Agent of SHIELD, are you clean?"

He nods, then says, "But I've got some condoms in my wallet."

She lifts her eyebrows at that, her lips curving into a smirk. "Well, well, aren't you a good little Boy Scout?"

He feels his face flush, and she chuckles, then climbs off the bed to grab his wallet from the pocket of his suit pants where they are draped over one of the armchairs.

She returns with the foil packets cupped in her hand, and drops them onto the nightstand, before picking one up and tearing it open.

He watches, mesmerised, as she rolls it down his length, then reaches out to clasps her hips when she moves to straddle him.

"I was going to get you off first," he tells her, disappointed, and she chuckles again.

"Another time," she says in a tone of promise. "Right now, I just want you inside me."

He groans her name as she sinks down onto his cock, then gasps when she lifts herself back up so that he nearly slips right out of her.

"Okay, Phil, no more teasing, I promise," she tells him, and she settles down to ride him. All Coulson can do is hold onto her hips and thrust upwards vigorously as she moves up and down on him.

"Touch me," she commands him after a few minutes, and he reaches for her clit, teasing it eagerly as Skye continues to fuck herself on his cock.

She begins to come, her muscles tightening around his thrusting cock, and it's enough to tip him over the edge too.

She flops down on top of him, and he runs his hands up and down her back, squeezing her ass, and stroking the sides of her breasts.

She kisses him, slow and leisurely, and he moans softly into her mouth, then he eases her away from him so he can talk to her.

"Skye," he says softly. "There's something I need to tell you."

"What is it, Phil?" she asks, nuzzling her lips against the side of his neck.

"I don't do this, usually. I'm not one for casual hook-ups, or sex with someone I barely know. But – " He pauses to lick his lips which feel swollen from her kisses and nibbling.

"But what?" she asks, her eyes seeming huge. 

"I don't want tonight to be a one-off," he says quickly. "I really like you – I mean, I did before tonight. I just didn't think you'd ever be interested. I'm a fifty year old bureaucrat with a receding hairline, and – "

Skye cuts him off with a vigorous kiss. "Don't worry about it, Phil," she says. "I get it. And I'm not into casual sex either. But I fancied you the very first time I saw you coming out of your office. You looked very sexy and fit in your suit."

He raises his eyebrows. "Is that why you picked me to help you?" he asks. "Nothing to do with my 'kind eyes' at all?"

She snickers. "You do have kind eyes," she tells him. "But the fact that you look very good in your tailored suits definitely helps."

He shakes his head, then rolls them over. "You're a very cheeky young woman," he says sternly. "I'm not sure I shouldn't punish you."

She smirks. "What do you have in mind, Phil?"

"I'll have to think about it," he says loftily, then groans when she tightens her muscles around his half-hard cock, which is still buried inside her.

He sits up and disposes of the condom; Skye pulls him back down to lie on top of her.

"Aren't I too heavy for you?" he asks.

"I'm a strong woman," she says with a grin.

"That I already knew," he tells her in a serious tone.

She shakes her head. "You've got a soft heart, Agent Coulson. You ought to be far more cynical."

"If I were, we wouldn't be here," he points out. "If I'd been cynical when we met for lunch that time, and you confessed to stalking me, you'd be locked up somewhere by now."

"Lucky me, then, for finding the agent who's soft-hearted."

"Lucky for me too," he assure her. He cannot guess how long this is going to last, but he knows how fortunate he is that a young, vibrant, and sexy woman like Skye would want a man who's twice her age.

"Maybe we should celebrate our good fortune, then?" she suggests.

"What did you have in mind?" he asks.

"I think you should put your talented mouth and those long fingers of yours to good use," she says. She slips a hand to the back of his neck and pulls him down for a hungry kiss, and he smirks against her lips, then eases first one, then two fingers inside her slick heat. She moans into his mouth as he begins to fingerfuck her, and he fights back a laugh – he loves doing this, and he's not just going to settle for fingerfucking her, he decides. Once he's got her off, he's going to go down on her and show her just how talented his mouth is.

It occurs to him, fleetingly, that they should probably get some more sleep, but the next moment he dismisses the idea. He'll sleep another time, when he doesn't have a willing and energetic woman in his bed. Right now, though, all he cares about is bringing pleasure to Skye.


End file.
